While circumstances prevented Andrew and I from adopting my beautiful Tabby, I rejoiced when her forever family found her. I was excited as I anticipated her being "an orphan no more". To know a mother's love. To be held. To be properly fed and nourished in both body and in soul. To be read to. Sang to. While I couldn't be her true mommy, I felt such relief knowing that she would soon have one.
It wasn't meant to be.
The day when Putin banned all American-Russian adoptions, my heart plummeted. A spirited, red-head girl with a little something extra would be trapped. Trapped in that orphanage. Her forever family unable to reach her. What if Andrew and I tried harder? Would we have been successful? Would we have had her out of there and secure in our homes before this ban? What if I lied about my history of depression and anxiety? Would we have been allowed to adopt then? What if? What if? I feel so guilty.
A child, my child sentenced to a life without a mother and father.
Is she loved?
Is she receiving affection?
Is she receiving enough food and water?
Is she receiving proper medical care?
Does she have friends?
My Tabitha turns 4 years-old this May. As many of you know, this means "imminent transfer". Transfer to a mental institution. As many of you know, this is a horrendous sentence. Wasting away.
(Read Katie's story from The Blessing of Verity--a 9 year-old girl rescued from an institution)
I couldn't write about her. Because you see, if I wrote about Tabby, it meant it was/is real. It solidified that her forever family wasn't coming for her. With tears streaming down my face, I beg you to please pray for my other daughter. Pray for her and let us not forget that while our country has come a long way (and still has a ways to go) in our treatment and views of children with disabilities, many other countries still shuttle them away from the public eye. Labeling them as "unworthy".
So yes, I haven't written about these children in a long time, but I have been thinking about them daily. My heart ever so heavy. Breaking for these kids. For my Tabitha.